


These are the days

by Shipper101



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Contact, Multi, Sort of villainous humanity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 22:56:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13937208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shipper101/pseuds/Shipper101
Summary: The Imperium and the Citadel clash, even as the weak and dispossessed scrabble for a future. A hidden message is sent across the Council, and representatives gather for an auction that will change the fate of the galaxy. Dark forces gather to destroy the hidden secret of the oldest race in the galaxy. And, far beyond the rim of galactic space, ancient intelligences plan their apocalyptic cycle once again.This is sort of a writing practice test for myself, as I am extremely bad at holding a course, so please bear with me if i get delayed (And I seem to get very delayed, very often :( )





	These are the days

The moon of Kor’esh was known by many as a pinnacle of wanton debauchery. Its three cities, Toshan, Kevir and Yipsum were known as the three blood diamonds of the Terminus; three bountiful but tainted prizes waiting to be simply taken by the strongest claimant. It had been a long, slow process to get to this point. The system Kor’esh inhabited was known as the Ciptrine Gap; a single system, connected to two other systems to form something of a passageway between Terminus Space and the Batarian Hegemony. As such, it was a desperately valuable strategic prize, and in the aftermath of the Hegemony’s assertion of its position as a major military power in the region, it soon became one of the Hegemony’s most valuable territories. Valuable enough to sanction the terraforming of the formerly Dextro based moon of Kor’esh to a fully Levo sustaining biosphere in preparation for the positioning of a military outpost and port.

The second item, the port, had proven to be a stroke of genius. The innumerable slaves taken from Terminus space poured through the port of Kevir, its wealth leading to the formation of a burgeoning mercantile class. Over time, internal divisions and Council influence forced the merchants apart, and thus Kevir’s two sister cities were founded, by those fleeing from the fickle arm of the Kevir guard. With three ports, and competing interests, the world had bloomed, with massive riches pouring into it from their clients in the Terminus and the Hegemony. And as the numbers of slaves grew, so did the number of chancers seeking to make their fortune. The whole moon was renowned as a haven for any fleeing the influence of the Council, with no law save for that set by the deeply corrupt Batarian Merchant Guilds, and tidal waves of blood money pouring through their markets.

The war, however, had proved to be a major cause for crisis. As more and more of the Hegemony fleet was pulled into the inferno around the Imperial Relay, the meagre control still maintained by the military was broken down relentlessly. The chancers and black-market runners twisted the system, weaponizing it to their own ends. And by and large the Hegemony let them; their supply of slaves being far too valuable to the great to make an issue of it. So, it was that the control the Hegemony once maintained deteriorated further and further, so that which once was a haven for the wicked and the illegal hiding behind a veneer of civility now descended into a lawless mess of corruption, debauchery and moral degradation. The Council sought to stem the collapse, seeking to establish their own authority and protections, but the strength of the Hierarchy military was deployed against the might of the Imperium, and so the once omnipotent Citadel Council lacked any form of teeth with which to implement its will.

This was the hellhole that Morinth now traversed. A dystopian nightmare straight out of the darkest nightmares of the elders of Thessia. Morinth loved it. She loved the world around her, its corruption seeming to visibly seep from the walls and ground. She loved the total lack of pretence about its people; everyone who came to this world knew what awaited them, and nobody was going to be surprised about it. And most of all she loved the cruel irony that brought her here. Beneath the skin-tight vacuum suit she wore, pressed between her breast and the Salarian manufactured material, was a Council writ. A writ that granted her full immunity for all past transgressions and, at least until this operation was complete, unlimited freedom to indulge in whatever sick, twisted fantasies she sought to partake in. The desperation among the Council that led to this situation was by far her favourite part of the whole sordid mess she now found surrounding herself. Before the war she would never have been contacted by the Council in any way other than down the barrel of a SPECTRE’s gun. Now, here they were to plunge themselves deeper into the abyss their morality now resembled.

The War had been good for Morinth. The general call to arms by the Hierarchy had drawn away almost the entirety of their policing force, and the general permittivity of the Council in regards to private individuals all but carving up entire regions of space had thrown what legitimate security personnel remained into a desperate rear-guard action in an attempt to slow the decline of whole regions of Council Space into personnel fiefdoms. Furthermore, Morinth’s despised Justicar mother, for many centuries Morinth’s greatest enemy, had been engulfed in the tide of war during the early years and disappeared during the apocalyptic battles fought on and around Carnifex. So yes, her presence here was very much the icing on a particularly delicious cake that had been building up for the last five years. And now here she was to top it all off.

Suddenly, she felt grip on her upper arm. Freezing, she slowly turned her head to see what manner of creature had taken hold of her. She found herself staring into the four eyes of a young Batarian; one of his eyes was rheumy and swollen, and he bore a truly spectacular scar across his face, cauterised shut. A veteran then. The Hegemony’s impact on the war had been both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, the Hegemony’s impact on the war overshadowed almost every other Council race by a straight mile, and the general slackening of Council watchfulness allowed the great and the good to indulge in their less than savoury practices without fear of censure. On the other hand, the Imperium had taken note of the Hegemony’s involvement in the war, and constant subversive attacks were sapping the will of the masses while high profile assassinations were placing the Hegemons in desperate paranoia. Licking her lips, she knew exactly how to dispose of this… parasite.

Quick as a flash, she threw him off with a biotic blast, her hand whipping to her waist where it settled around the grip of her weapon. With her other hand she seized the Batarian around the throat in a vice grip. Hauling him up against a wall, she carefully positioned her blade against his groin and gently tapped the controller. At the sound of the stifled hum the Batarian fell silent. Good, he was a veteran.

“So, you know what this is?”

The Batarian nodded frenetically. His three good eyes were focussed intently upon the weapon in her grasp, the blackened blade hovering millimetres above his groin plate. Morinth enjoyed this part. From the scar, this Batarian looked like he may well have been on the receiving end of a vibro-blade before, only at the hands of a much nastier wielder. Vibro blades had fallen out of fashion among the Council races when the Hierarchy had first introduced the Omni-blade; more convenient, coming bundled into an already common issue piece of equipment, and required far less training. The unfortunate limitations of the Council power equipment meant that a Vibro blade could only function live for about thirty seconds on a standard combat suits power supply; more with a Vibro dagger, such as the one she now possessed, or a Vibro Axe, less on a full Vibro sword. This made their functionality somewhat limited outside of ceremonial roles. The Humans had changed all that, however.

While their Klaves suffered from the same restraints as the Council races, the Knights seemed to have no such problems, allowing them to keep their blades in function continuously. And so, the ancient art of vibro blade combat had been reborn and updated; an omni-blade stood little chance in a clash against a vibro blade, as the increased leverage and flexibility of the vibro weapon would almost always prove to be dominant. Fortunately, some of the older Asari still remembered their vibro sword training, and numerous societies had kept the art alive over the centuries. Thus, the vibro blade found its way into the armouries of the Citadel once again. This particular item was an unintended gift from an angry Turian SPECTRE, one Nihilus Kyrnic, who had escaped their confrontation with both life and mind intact, but short almost his entire armoury. This was the one item she requested from her employers at the time; a request they were more than happy to oblige given she, single handed, saved their smuggling operation and dealt with their SPECTRE problem. She heard they had been obliterated when Kyrnic’s mentor, SPECTRE Saren Arterius, rained down hell upon them in vengeance for his colleague. She couldn’t really care less. Returning her focus to the present, she glared the Batarian right in the eyes.

“Now, do I look like the sort of person who’d be wandering about like a piece of meat? Do you really think I would be an easy mark in a place like this? I don’t think so. So, now, you’re going to be very quiet, and are going to come with me, and, when we are in a zone I expect to be clear, I am going to crush your little mind and feast upon your thoughts. Is that clear? Nod for yes, shake for no.”

The Batarian just stood there, frozen in terror. Or, on second thoughts, maybe not. Pressing her fingers to the back of his neck, she felt for a pulse. The Batarian heart pumps about sixty times per minute, pushing thick, copper-based blood around their bodies. This one didn’t seem to even be working on once. Rolling her eyes at herself, Morinth let the Batarian’s body drop like the sack of meat it was and walked off.

###

Torus Gaarn looked around the flesh markets and felt the desperate need to hurl. He could remember when he was kept in pens like this. The Hegemony’s insatiable demand for living goods drove a massive industry across the galaxy, with only the Humans and Krogan proving immune to their depredations (largely because it was an extremely brave slaver who even attempted to subdue a Human or a Krogan long enough to train them). While the Turians were largely excluded from the slaver targets of choice, as their high level of militarisation and generally combat trained population made for a stunning lack of soft targets, those outer worlds without the protection of the Hierarchy proper often suffered, as Turians were highly prized as slaves due to their rarity. And looking around the flesh pit he could see why. The cages were filled with Salarians and Asari, the ever-popular slave races of the galaxy. Besides that, there were a number of Vorcha; extremely popular as guards for the higher ranked Hegemony officials, they were often mass bred in the Terminus and fed slowly into the Hegemony to keep the price high while at the same time fulfilling demand. A number of Volus and Quarians were also present; far rarer than the initial three due to their greater requirements, they often held highly valuable skills and were generally easily trained; the Quarians held an intimate terror of suit breaches, meaning even a simple control port was often enough to manage them, while the Volus tended to be passive aggressive at best, playing their owners in battles of intellect rather than physicality, and thus were more of a cost benefit analysis and exercise in control for the owners.

That left the Turians; three of them, chained up and nude at the back of the square. Two were covered in burns and scar tissue, clearly veterans of the war, heads bowed and mouths moving; he had seen this sort of trauma before, in other veterans, but to see such individuals chained up in a slaver pen riled him to no end. The third was a child; couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old, and was pressed intently to the side of the older two. Maybe their child? As much as Torus’s heart went out for all of the pitiful creatures trapped within the cages of the market, they were not what he was here for right now. While he held no physical copy of his instructions, he had his orders; A SPECTRE of the council, operating at the request of the Chapter Primarchs themselves, had given them to him and by his name he would see them done. He knew full well why this was the necessary masquerade for the Hierarchy; the Imperium was definitely more their concern than the other races. However, at the same time, the Hierarchy couldn’t be seen to act directly against its Council mates without severely hampering their war effort. So, it came to be that SPECTRE Voca enlisted him in this operation.

With a last glance at the flesh markets, Torus turned and started down the nearby passageway. The locals all kept a good distance from him, the fearsome reputation of Turians preceding him. It seemed that even in this hellhole of a world there were still some things that held true. He could only imagine Wreav making his way through this place. His old friend was particularly fond of a good fight, and since the Great Pilgrimage there had been little or less of that on Tuchanka. While Clan Urdnot now reigned supreme among Krogan on two planets, Wreav could never seem to escape the shadow of his uncle. Wrex had cast a deep spell over all Krogan, it seemed, and even half a galaxy’s distance didn’t seem to calm their vicious animosity. Torus had been regaled with tales of how Wrex had utterly failed to unite the Krogan of Tuchanka, and had left Wreav the role. How his success in this regard had proved once and for all that Wreav was the better Urdnot.

Then came stories from Carnifex, of Wrex leading a renewed Krogan race in the greatest battle of galactic history. That was what it all came down to in the end. The Humans, and their worlds and their wars. And most of all the accursed Carnifex. Millions of Krogan battling millions of Humans in a titanic theatre that drew in, chewed up and spat out every other race or military. Even the Hierarchy gave Carnifex a wide berth; it was said that every being fighting on Carnifex was worth a full platoon of any other race, and that should one side ever emerge victorious, it would sweep the rest of the galaxy aside in a tidal wave of carnage.

Gaarn found it best to suppress such thoughts. The war was, by and large, contained. As an inevitable fact of Mass Relay warfare, fighting always tended to be fiercest around the relays themselves, as they formed natural choke points to control the pace of the conflict. Any attacker was always going to suffer heavy casualties fighting through a mass relay, as the defender would always know exactly where they were going to be. Even the humans, with all of their stealth tech, couldn’t escape this simple face. Smaller, short distance relays could provide a limited degree of circumnavigation, but the inherent restrictions upon their carrying capacity and the time requirements meant they were never going to win wars alone. So surgical strikes turned into bullish onslaughts as each side attempted to barrel through their enemy’s defences. It was a mindset to which Turians and Krogan had proved superbly well suited. A fact that went some way to explaining where their role as the Citadel’s muscle originated.

The end result, however, was that the Humans were largely contained beyond the Caldera systems. While he pitied those poor civilians trapped between the militaries in those systems, it was hardly a unique situation. The galaxy was descending to decay and corruption without the guiding might of the Hierarchy military. SPECTRES and the other Council races did their best to contain the rot, but it was a hopeless battle; the galaxy was just waiting for the opportunity to plunge itself into chaos. And chaos was what Torus intended to bring. Voca had been very ambiguous with his deal; most likely as a defensive measure, in case of discovery, but Torus knew this game. And he intended to win it.

Turning a corner, he saw it. The Yipsum spaceport. While he would question the decision to hold an illicit meeting in the only place there was likely to be security in the entire city, he did understand the sellers thinking; there was easy access to a quick getaway, and the security would make the buyers think twice about starting anything here. The crowd was thick, as the more standard market was in full swing around the spaceport. Almost every imaginable good was available here, from innocuous fruit to black market human weaponry, to, without a doubt, whispers from the Shadow Broker and Council idents. Placing his hand on his sidearm, Torus started to push his way through the thronging crowd. Everywhere there were vendors shouting their goods and customers bartering hard, exotic animals cawing and a curious mixture of scents and aromas seeming to seep from every nook and cranny.

Torus found this far more familiar. Rubbing his hand up the back of his neck, he could feel the scar carved into his flesh from where he extracted the control device. Two decades of service, two decades, and his master had sought to flay him alive for allowing his precious son to be injured in a market just like this. Torus had felt not a moment of remorse as he gutted the arrogant Batarian, before carving the control implant out of his neck. The son had far more sense than the father and took the opportunity to run. In all fairness, Torus probably wouldn’t have hurt Telak. He was a fair boy, lacking his father’s sadistic streak, and Torus had become rather fond of him.

Even as before, the crowd parted nicely before him. Then, just when it was inconvenient, he heard a shout from behind him.

“You, Turian. By order of the High Hegemons, I am placing you under arrest for theft of property, under the Hegemony Codas”

Torus swore under his breath. He knew he should have worn the high collar today. Any other time, he would wear the marks of his escape with pride, but here and now, they were inconvenient. He could hear the Batarian thugs moving behind him, could hear the jinking of the cuffs. It really showed the degradation of this planet; on most Hegemony worlds all officers were equipped with slave restraint implants as standard. Here they just had to make do with good old cuffs. Smirking, Torus whipped around, discharging his pistol into the nearest thug. The Batarian collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, while the others charged. The crowd parted wide around the fight, and Gaarn was sure he could see some placing bets on what was going to happen here. There were three thugs left; a tall one with a heavily burned face and a cybernetic arm (clearly a veteran, probably extremely strong, thus target number one), a tall female with only two eyes left (Also a veteran, handicapped vision, likely well trained, target number two), and finally a perfectly healthy, short Batarian, who was the only one of the three in uniform, and unlike the other two had yet to take a stance (spoiled rich kid who did this as a hobby, little to no threat level, poor fighting skills, target number three).

Raising his gun, he got a single shot off at the tall, male veteran, who simply deflected it with his arm. There was a flash of light, and the shot changed direction without making contact. Torus was gratified to see his guess was correct- the tall male was a veteran- but at the same time to have a kinetic barrier equipped arm made him that much more of a problem. The woman came at him fast, swinging at his face. Leaning out of the path of the strike, Gaarn reversed his grip on the pistol and brought it up in a wide arc. The woman dodged it easily, moving back out of his reach, but the dumb rich kid took the hit straight on the temple, and staggered to the side. However, the impact distracted Gaarn, and took his eye out of the here and now. He was rewarded for his negligence with a shoulder charge from the tall male veteran. Gaarn felt himself rise up off the ground, before returning at speed.

The impact hurt like a bitch, but Gaarn knew he needed to keep going. Pulling himself to his feet, he swung hard at the male, but had his fist caught in the cybernetic hand. Grunting, Gaarn swung up, using his arm as leverage, and wrapped his legs around the Batarian’s neck, before dropping his weight back down. This time, the Batarian descended with him. This time, Gaarn ended up on top. Driving his fingers into the Batarian’s armpit, Gaarn found the nerve and pinched it. Hard. The Batarian screamed, and his cybernetic arm went limp as that side of his body went into shutdown. Torus followed up with an elbow to the face, sending the large Batarian to the depths of unconsciousness.

Looking around, Gaarn received a foot to the face for his troubles, as the female continued her assault. Rolling back, dazed, Gaarn barely managed to hold off her ferocious strikes as she bore down on him. Bringing his knee up, she hopped backwards, out of reach of his desperate move, just in time for the rich boy to collide with him, sending him to the ground. The boy attacked with no thought or skill, just pummelling away, and after a couple of seconds, Gaarn managed to regather his wits. Bringing his elbow up hard, he felt a satisfying crunch as the Batarian’s shoulder dislocated. The boy cried out in pain and surprise, before staggering up to his feet. Gaarn leaped towards his pistol, only to be intercepted by the female. Grasping his arms, she hauled him to his feet, before smashing her forehead into his, hard.

It is not a well-known fact that in the galaxy Turians are, in fact, fairly middle of the road as physicality goes; roughly the same as an un-augmented human. The Imperial Humans, Krogan and Yahg all stand stronger and tougher than any of their rivals, forming the veritable elite of the galactic physicalities. The Elcor and Volus form the bottom tier, forced to rely upon other means of combat. While a Turian is stronger physically, on average, than an Asari or a Salarian, they are, in turn, physically weaker than a Batarian or a Quarian. And Batarians have many more natural advantages when it comes to combat over a Quarian. Heavy bone structure, fused skull and standard leg configuration to name a few. So, when a Turian is brought into grapple with a Batarian, even a female one, it is rarely a good place to be.

As the female brought her head forwards hard against Torus’s skull. Gaarn staggered back in a daze, in which time the female charged up to him, gripped him around the waist, spun around to be behind him, hoisted him up into the air, and brought him crashing back down to ground, hard and head first, in a textbook suplex. Now Gaarn was very dazed, and the female wasted no time getting on top of him, and raining strikes down upon him. This was not going well. He needed to make space. Bringing his foot up, he pushed her hard in the chest, throwing her off him and backwards a fair distance. Leaping to his feet, he sprinted to his gun, and brought it up. The female, realising what was going to happen, grabbed the rich boy and dragged him, screaming, between her and Torus. The two shots he managed to get off both hit the boy’s centre mass, but then the body, still warm, came flying at him, and he threw himself to the side. As he pulled himself up, he looked around. He had very much been expecting her to be all over him by now. Instead, there wasn’t the faintest hint she had ever been present. Holstering his pistol, he cracked his neck, before disappearing into the, suddenly indifferent, crowd.

###

Teal was feeling an eerie sense of déjà vu as she worked her way through the spaceport. The broker expected her to be at the platform promptly and she had been unpleasantly side-tracked by an uncomfortably forwards businessman and his Batarian thugs on her way here. Oh, did she say businessman. She meant slaver. Now, Teal wasn’t against the concept of slavery; she had seen the core idea more than once during mating season on Sur’kesh more than once, and it didn’t seem like so big a deal to extrapolate it. She was, however, offended by the notion she looked like an easy mark for a slave. Anyway, the thugs had been rapidly disabused of the notion; two trying to hold their bowels inside their guts, one dead with a shot clean between his eyes and one clutching his demolished kneecaps. And finally, the Salarian businessman was introduced to the business end of her vibro knife. Slowly. In a gratifyingly agonising manner. While it had been immensely satisfying, demonstrating why she had been chosen for the Special Tactics and Recon office in the first place, it had, however, made her rather late, and she didn’t want to anger the being that kept her in the aforementioned office.

It was a position that was becoming increasingly difficult to manage. The value of SPECTRE informants had diminished somewhat due to the general degradation of the galaxy allowing the various information brokers to gain access to almost anything with little effort. The only area that remained totally under wraps were the Caldera systems, and any and all information about the Humans and their Imperium. And that was information kept in, and jealously guarded by, a select few hands in the galaxy, and SPECTRE or no there was no real way around this problem. Now, all SPECTREs could really be used for was as high value troops in the broker’s employ.

Which was why she was here, on this godforsaken Terminus hellhole, looking for docking bay V. How difficult could it really be to organise the docking bays numerically? It was number five, for the sake of the Dalatress. Five. Finally, she found a map. Naturally, docks one to four were grouped together, flanked by docks nine to twelve, and docks thirteen to sixteen. Docks five to eight were grouped up on the far side of the port, because of course they were.

Breaking into a run, Teal could tell she wasn’t going to make it through the unholy crowd bustling through the port. They were all frustratingly oblivious, and if they did even recognise her presence, Teal was willing to wager they wouldn’t move anyway. Suddenly, as if by magic, everything fell silent. Hundreds of pairs of eyes focussed just behind her, as the crowd parted as if compelled. The hackles on the back of Teal’s neck rose, and she fingered her pistol nervously.

“I really wouldn’t, if I were you”

Teal froze. Letting her hand drop to her side, she turned slowly around, only to come face to face with broad, flat chest plate of the combat suit the speaker was wearing. Looking up, she saw glowing green, and she froze.

Human.

For a second, her entire life seemed to flash in front of her eyes. As a SPECTRE, Teal had access to far more information than most on the subject of the Human race. She knew as much as anyone did of the subdivisions and internal conflicts within their empire. The being standing before her was clearly an Imperial, augmented human; the basic human frame only rarely exceeded two meters, and the specimen standing before her was easily approaching three. The face was particularly interesting; studying the area above the respirator, this was clearly female; one of the more interesting points of first contact had been the recognition of the dramatic similarity between their human guests and the Asari. While it became clear later they had only discovered the broken, outlying stragglers of a mighty interstellar empire, the point still stood, facially at least. The lack of any form of hair on the crowns of the Imperial Human’s heads had been an interesting discovery, as had their total lack of any secondary sexual characteristics, but their faces remained dimorphic. And this individual looked like a black Asari. Therefore, female.

It was the eyes that most fascinated Teal; unlike any other race in the galaxy, of which Teal knew (and she knew them all), the eyes of the humans glowed. It was hypothesised they had some form of advanced augmentations deployed within their otherwise biological eyeballs, but the unpleasant self-destruct mechanisms of Imperials meant they had never had the chance to investigate. Teal wouldn’t be surprised if X-ray was included in that package; the eyes seemed to be staring right into her soul.

Realising she had been staring at the enormous alien, Teal broke her gaze away, lowering it to the floor, and shuffled to the side. SPECTRE or no, pride or no, there was no point picking a fight with a human. The security here wouldn’t help; no one was ever paid enough to deal with a Human in a headlong fight. Teal had seen post action videos of what those bodies could do to Turian soldiers, and she had no doubt they would barely register a Salarian. Nodding once at her, the female human gestured. Looking behind her, Teal saw she was flanked by two other humans; both in heavy armour, weapons rested on their arms and helmets deployed. Just Klaves though. They lacked the incredible intimidation factor of the Knights. The crowd parted before the human team, and the group made their way along.

Teal was sure everyone could remember where they were when the Imperium made its presence known. She, personally, had been on the Citadel, looking after their human guests. The humans had identified themselves as humans, belonging to the Amrikaas nations. While proceeding with negotiations, the Council clearly believed this was the human chosen name for their civilisation. They had been offered standard terms for their integration; subservience to the Turians until such a time as their civilisation was ready to take its place among the stars independent of such a guiding hand.

Then, the messenger charged into the room. A Turian communications officer, straight from the Shield of the Citadel, came charging in to announce that an unknown fleet, not matching any ship descriptions, had appeared over the Amrikaas world of Carnifex. Or, at least, they believed it was the Amrikaas world. Shortly after, the Turian councillor received a communication to his omni tool. Declaring it was from the fleet, he put it up on the council viewscreen.

_“This is Hierarchy Shipmaster Tonas Vakarius. We are the only survivors of the Carnifex peacekeeping and first contact fleet. We received a communication from the enemy fleet, with instructions to transmit it to you as soon as we could. We are putting it through now. Attached is our vid-take of the battle”_

_The screen changed, to reveal a black mask, formed into the appearance of a beast of some form, disguising his appearance. The eyes, however, glowed an eldritch green that seemed to bury into the hearts of every member of the assembled council._

_“I am Grand Admiral Markos Tonales of the Most Holy Order of the Ebony Chalice, Order of the Ordo Noctis in service to the Systems Imperium of the Union Eternal. This communication is to the masters of the alien intruders of the Tempestus System. This system is ours. The Amrikaas, treacherous heretics though they may be, are ours. In the name of the Council Imperialis, operating at the behest of the Union Eternal, we hereby declare a state of war to exist between yourselves and the Imperium, until such a time as the Council elects to end such a state. This galaxy is mankind’s birthright, our Imperium proof of our success. You may stand with us or against us, but do not get in our way.”_

_With that, the screen faded to the image of a red flag; in the centre was a yellow sun, atop a crossed hammer and torch, also in yellow. To the left were three stars; one in white, one in blue and one in yellow. To the right were two crescents, one larger and directed towards the sun in the centre, the other smaller and nestled within the heart of the first. Below were words in an alien language, incomprehensible to the assembled council._

Silence descended over the council chamber, as everyone simply attempted to absorb the information. Then, the Turian Councillor spoke up.

_“This is OUTRAGEOUS! Where are these Amrikaas? How do you not mention you are on the edge of an insane empire?”_

Tevos nodded that that.

_“I agree, Sparatus. SPECTRE Vasir, if you would bring the Amrikaas representatives to the council, we would greatly appreciate it. SPECTRE Teal, if you would take the combat footage to the Destiny Ascension, and begin sifting through it with the STG representatives, we would be most grateful.”_

Nodding, first in acknowledgement to Tevos, then in deference to the other Council members, Teal left the council chamber. When she arrived at the Destiny Ascension, it was in uproar. No orders had been transmitted to it, and the crew was about ready to mutiny. Taking the footage to the STG operatives, she found her steps dogged by the Turian captains of the rest of the fleet.

_The footage was… impressive. At first there looked like there was nothing. Simply a great black void of empty space. Then, suddenly, hundreds of ships seemed to appear on the magno-scans; their black colouration and sheer distance made them all but imperceptible to the naked eye, but now they seemed to appear as if from nowhere. Then, they watched with rising horror as what tens, if not hundreds of thousands of miniature craft, each with a barely detectable signature, broke off from the main craft masses._

_The ships of the Council fleet suddenly started to shake, several exploding into enormous eezo fuelled fireballs as the weapons of the aliens collided with their kinetic barriers, and in several cases, ploughed straight through them. The sensory suites were clearly picking up a veritable tide of small fighters, obscuring any and all movements for the bigger ships behind. However, the only way they could detect their presence was from the near total lack of visible emissions from the craft; their pitch-black colouration obscuring them. The fleet scrambled its fighters, but they seemed to simply disappear after a short time. The sensory suites could still detect their vague presence, as energy fluctuations seemed to display their desperate struggle and subsequent demises. Then, the attack wave was on them. The GARDIANS proved more effective than the fighters, their lack of reliance on optical targeting allowing them to clearly identify the attacking craft. However, as ship after ship exploded before the storm of small vessels, it was clear they were not going to stop the attack._

_Ship by ship the Council armada was obliterated by the thousands of smaller fighters, before it came to the only dreadnought in the exploration fleet, Knife of the Primarchs. The more advanced GARDIAN system mounted on the larger ship proved more able to stop the incoming fire, and everyone on the bridge held their breath for a moment. Then, out of nowhere, the Dreadnoughts kinetic barriers flared up, briefly, before failing, and the Dreadnought was torn in half, lengthways, as mass accelerator shells collided with it in quick succession._

It had not been a good day for the council. It had been a deeply unpleasant day for the STG, as they discovered, sifting through the ships data, a complete absence of transmissions from the human fleet. Not even encoded transmissions, there was simply nothing. Since that day, several discoveries had been made. One; human ships were, pound for pound, the most dangerous ships in the galaxy. Two, humans were, mano e mano, one of the most dangerous beings in the galaxy. Three, human fleets were just bigger; they never seemed to operate in much smaller detachments than full fleet size, or those that did simply used the human’s superb stealth tech to their advantage. Four, the humans were good at fighting wars; their stealth tech outstripped the STGs by a straight mile, while their communications were undetectable. Even after five years of trying, there was still no success on that front.

Realising she had started to daydream, Teal started moving again. Dammit, she was very late.

###

_The ships emerged from the relay in unison. Where once there was nothing, now the region was practically swarmed with jet black behemoths, lumbering onwards into the dark. The Citadel fleet was massed against them; two thousand ships, six hundred of them Batarian, under the command of Torrish Nevaros. Twelve hundred Turian, forming the heart of the fleet under Titus Korvian. Two hundred Asari vessels, under the command of Matriarch Lilithu Belaxhi._

_They just waited, for the storm to break. Two thousand lights, glowing in the vast, dark expanse. Two thousand lights before a tidal wave of darkness. The Imperial fleet seemed to thrum with activity. The new sensors on the Fist were going crazy; so many targets on the scopes, pouring out from the relay. They appeared to be evenly numbered, but the Imperial fleet seemed to favour larger ships than the Council races were used to. Not to mention, the targets seemed to be spawning thousands upon thousands of new threats every second. She could remember this; the training had been very clear, in the long weeks since the contact on Carnifex._

_The first wave is the drones. The tens upon tens of thousands of drones. The relay was completely obscured now; she could see the discrete points of darkness as they moved and flowed around each other. Around the fist, the Batarian contingent moved into position. The rest of the Citadel fleet seemed to have the same idea, shifting positions, with frigates up front. The Citadel fleets fighter contingent moved from their hangars, flitting around the frigates like a swarm of angry, protective wasps. The order came through on the comms, and she barked out her command. The cannons fired, high explosive shells rocketing towards the mass of Imperial drones. The rest of the fleet did the same, and the gathering darkness was pierced with hundreds of points of light._

_The swarm didn’t slow or break. Instead, it seemed to compact and flow together, changing from a massed wall of death to a huge, multi-pronged tentacled beast. The ships realigned their cannons and fired again. Again, the swarm took the hit, reshaping to become a massive maw, approaching the fleet to swallow it whole. The next time the cannons fired, the swarm shifted before they connected, simply moving out of the path of the shots and resealing after them. Then, they were upon the lead ships._

_GARDIAN turrets and fighter escorts leaped to action, and the impenetrable darkness around the frigates was broken with flashes of laser fire and small mass accelerator discharges. One by one the long-range scopes lost the lead frigates. Then, there was fire. The swarm seemed to part as the Cruisers implemented their countermeasure; the division bombs forced the swarm to part, allowing the frigates to cluster up, covering each other with their GARDIANS. When the swarm re-initiated their attack, they found their approach stymied by systematic, interlocking fire from the ships, unbreaking and not permitting any access. Dozens of frigates were annihilated by the assault, but the swarm was thinning._

_Then the Hierarch’s Hammer exploded into a thousand fragments, as a mass accelerator round tore through its shields and ripped it apart from prow to stern. The two other dreadnoughts sought to return fire, but the swarm was intercepting their scanners and disrupting their targeting. The second round tore through the Wrath of Khar’Shan and the God of Menae before impacting on the strong shields of the Kursare’s Wall, the two cruisers exploding into eezo fuelled fireballs. The humans were on them then, the prows of their ships appearing through the swarm like horrific portents of doom. Salvoes of torpedoes tore from their prows towards the unprepared heavy ship groups, the frigates still locked in place by the swarm._

_That’s when it happened. As she watched the Storm of The’Sash being ripped apart by the torpedo volley, it started to broadcast over their system. The screams. Begging for mercy. Endlessly begging and screaming and howling and crying. Again, and again, ever changing but always the same. Endless poor, unkind souls trapped in agony, their wails and pleading hearts trapped and broadcast for all eternity._

_She knew now that it was the crews of the expeditionary fleet, as the drone swarm demolished them as they held, defenceless over Carnifex. But then, it was simply horror. A short look into the future. So that’s where she drew the line. She could see the Asari ships fleeing; or, more accurately, attempting to flee. Their cruisers were blasted to atoms by Imperial cannons, their frigates crushed to scrap by immense explosive forces. She had to get this right. The remaining few Citadel ships were fighting for their lives. She winced as yet another Turian cruiser, too far away to identify, was ripped apart by the firepower of the Imperial fleet. Nodding to her communications officer, she gestured to Teela. It was time to go. It was times like this she was thankful for her earlier postings. It was impossible to hear a word for the screams, but they had been deaf before, and had resolved never again._

_With the ponderousness of fate, the Fist started to move away from the fight. Amidst the furious exchange of fire none could see, or cared to see, the frigate move away. Away from the fire. Away from the screams. Away, towards the safety of the second line, and the open darkness of Citadel space._

Tetha bolted upright. Looking around, she let her breathing even out. She was alive. She was still alive. The Fist was still here. The battle was years ago. She was nowhere near the front. She was nowhere near the military. She was just here, and alive, and never had to go back. She was Tetha Isa’Keth, captain of the Hegemon’s Fist, Agent of the Terminus. She was in the Gap, not the Caldera. There were no humans just around the corner. Just a quiet spaceport. No drone swarm, only slave pits.

The Battle of the First Caldera had been a catastrophic disaster for the Citadel. A massed defence fleet, from numerous client races, annihilated in an attempt to hold off the advancing juggernaut of the Imperial military. Barely fifty Council ships had escaped the battle; fifty ships carrying with them the most valuable prize in the galaxy; Information. By the time the Imperium made their attack upon the second Caldera, the Citadel fleet had been reinforced and retrained. This time they hurt the Imperials. Hundreds of Imperial ships destroyed after the swarm was pierced by barrages of heavy ordinance. Nevertheless, despite a huge numerical advantage, and all of the acquired information, the Humans still smashed through the fleet. The Second Caldera system earned its name.

The Imperial assaults into the Outer Calderas were where the Citadel had finally struck back. The Imperial ships had finally met their match; outnumbered, and unable to trick the defenders with their stealth tech, the Imperials had finally be halted, the dark behemoths slowed by the massed power of the Citadel. The advanced self-destruct tech of the Imperial ships prevented the victors from truly benefitting from their victory, but a victory was a victory. By this stage, however, the Fist was long gone, plying the darkness of the Terminus, working for whoever paid. With the colossal mass exodus of Krogan to Carnifex, the demand in the Terminus for Batarians to provide further muscle increased dramatically, and she was well placed to take advantage.

And now, here she was, on order of Aria T’Loak, holding orbit over Kor’esh, to take delivery of a, to quote Aria, “Game Changer”. Closing her eyes, she focussed on the back of her eyelids. There were no human fleets here. They were contained; safe, behind the barrier of the Turian Hierarchy, held within the Calderas. Pulling the covers off her nude form, she shuffled over to the shower. Snapping her fingers, the door opened to reveal Alerie. The purple Asari looked up at Tetha, eyes focussed intently on her face. The simple tungsten collar around her throat stood out starkly against the expanse of her skin, while the rest of her body was concealed beneath an armoured body suit. Smiling at the Asari, Tetha gestured to herself. Nodding once, Alerie moved over, and began to scrub at Tetha’s back and shoulders.

An unpleasant rule of the Batarian military was that no non-Batarians would be permitted as permanent crew members, other than by right of ownership. This was a complex rule, that made it exceedingly difficult to hire for competence from outside the Hegemony. This was further complicated by restrictions on the minimum length of service for a purchased slave; at minimum, 10% of maximum expected lifespan. For a Quarian, like her Teela, this was easy. Fifteen to twenty years of ‘Slavery’ before being a free agent was more than manageable. For the Blood Pack contractors, those that chose to stay found that the two years provided by Vorcha lifespans were also extremely easy to complete. For an Asari matron like Alerie, two hundred years was more of a challenge. So, it was that Alerie was made to do the general service jobs of the Fist, from sweeping, to cleaning, to the personal grooming of its captain, while at the same time being the Commander of the planet side fireteams.

For her part, Alerie didn’t complain too much; she was very much aware of the general lot of slaves in the Hegemony, and to be purchased by her girlfriend was a rare turnabout. But Tetha saw. As did Teela. In her eyes. In her movements. Her outrage. Her humiliation. More than once Teela would run into Tetha’s cabin to cry about how hurt Alerie had been that day, or how hurtful she had been. And Tetha would comfort the Quarian girl; she was too young to fully understand what was happening and had never experienced the more violent aspects of slavers. The perks of being ‘adopted’ from her takers seconds after her implantation. It was, to this days, one of Tetha’s most cherished memories. How could she have done anything but?

The night had been cold, and the fires around the township still smouldering as Tetha led the slavers back to her ship. The holds were full of their cargo, and they had started the implantation. They were discussing their buyers for each slave; a mercenary group here, a brothel there, a lab there. Tetha was not yet a Captain; merely a second officer, and was responsible for the security of the slavers, not the slaves, so she stayed quiet. Then, she heard crying. Looking around, she saw a little bundle in golden cloth. The slavers were chuckling about something. Moving over, she plastered a smirk on her face, and asked what the problem was.

“Oh, nothing spacer. Just talkin ‘bout buyers of this one. Got a friend who just loved gettin’em young. Asari’re best, stay little girls for years, but Quarians’re worth a pretty penny too. Don’t get too many young on the border worlds.”

Tetha didn’t even hesitate. Her pistol was out and in the slavers face in a second. The slaver stopped, stunned. A weaselly old Batarian, all four of his eyes focussed in on the barrel currently shoved into his face.

“On the contrary, this one’s mine. Payment for the trouble.”

The old slaver snarled, before carefully schooling his face. He knew he’d been got. The Hegemony laid first claim to its pick of any new harvest. Usually this meant the most able, best trained etc. went to the Hegemons. However, every officer theoretically had the right to claim slaves from the crop as agents of the Hegemony. And no doubt the old creature knew that even the Hegemons would have trouble stomaching the prospect of supporting the sexual slavery of a child. Hissing, the old man handed her over.

So that was what left Tetha here, in a nice, hot shower, on board the best flown craft in the Hegemony Independent Fleet, being scrubbed by a five-hundred-year-old Asari Slave. A long, tumultuous, terrifying and war-torn road. No point fighting against the simple truths of the galaxy; why not play to them? The strong ruled the weak, the powerful preyed on the powerless. And war drums echoed on the horizon, forever. Even with the speed at which the Hegemony was falling apart, the War still drew their undivided attention and focus. It was the one fact every Hegemon agreed upon; the Imperium must never reach the Core systems. The outlying systems were under unending assault by the Imperial fleets, somehow sneaking past the heavy defences on the edges of the Caldera. Tetha knew the Hierarchy suffered from no such problems. The overgrown avians clearly knew how the Humans were doing it but were just eminently unwilling to share. An attitude Tetha should really have expected. Who didn’t hate the Hegemony, right up until it was convenient to forget, to allow? To move past. No forgiveness, just the eyes turned away in return for Hegemony aid.

Stepping from the shower, Tetha pulled on her uniform. The padded under sheath felt comfortable and familiar against her skin, stretching to accommodate her muscular form. Then turning, Tetha looked up at the armour. Once, Captains wore dress uniform when on the bridge. That was before the War. Now, it was Hegemony doctrine that no personnel outside of sealed chambers should ever travel in anything less than full sealed armour systems. An uncomfortable but necessary compromise for ship crews in the aftermath of devastating human assaults, leaving the wrecks of dozens of Batarian vessels, their life support neutralised, their crews floating in the cold, airless embrace of a hard vacuum. Pirates, military or security, any and all armed vessels were vulnerable to attack. The attackers appeared out of nowhere, devastated their targets, then withdrew back to the darkness. Sometimes the ships were stripped, other times everything, even the drives, were left fully intact. They were impossible to predict and harder to stop.

So, all in all, the wearing of armour was a small price to pay for the chance of survival in such a case. There was nothing to suggest there wasn’t a human fleet in system even now; Imperial Stealth Drives still evaded all but the most high-tech STG sensory arrays, and even those were hit and miss. For a backwater like this, it would be almost too easy. The only salvation would be that it was unlikely they would go after a fully armed frigate like the Fist. A ship like this was almost certainly military and would be able to get its shields up in time. Further, the crew of such a ship would almost certainly prove troublesome to a boarding party, eliminating the two most favoured means of attack. Last, the crew would likely be well trained enough to destroy the computer core, eradicating the purpose for such an assault. Not to be wrong; a human ship of any size would still be easily capable of annihilating a frigate like the Fist. However, it would take time, and almost certainly wouldn’t be worth it at the end. Safety by difficulty.

As Alerie lowered the final piece of armour onto her back, Tetha tapped at the Key-plate on her chest. The plate glowed, before rotating on the spot, and locking into position. Shaking gently, Tetha thanked Alerie, before moving to the elevator, Alerie flanking her. As the elevator rose to the bridge, a complete change came over Alerie. The timid, repressed slave gave way to the former Asari Commando turned marine commander. She stood taller, her face hardening into an impassive mask. Tetha smirked behind her visor. As they approached the top of the ride, Alerie moved her mask to her face, before sealing it over her mouth and nose. The mask was fashioned after the human designs they had seen, but instead of the utilitarian diamond patterns usually seen on Imperial Klaves, this instead was fashioned more along the lines of the ceremonial masks worn by Admirals, shaped as a tentacled mass after the look of the sea creatures of Alerie’s homeworld. The overall effect was unnerving, with Alerie’s eyes and brow visible over what appeared to be a tentacled mass, reaching down from her face and wrapping around her throat. Catching Tetha staring, Alerie nodded to the captain.

Then, the doors opened, and they were on the bridge. Striding rapidly up to her command podium, she looked around the assembled crew. There were five Vorcha, the fireteam she would be taking to the ground, and Alerie, of course. Then, there was Teela, who for this mission would be taking the shuttle. And finally, with great hesitation, Tetha took in Ka’Ash Balak. He was more or less the only crewmember she was safely unsure about, at any level. Balak had been one of the more blatant examples of ‘you take him, or you know what the consequences will be’. His father, Ka'hairal, was an Admiral who had won numerous commendations during the Caldera wars, both with the Hegemony and with the Council. As a result, he was all but priceless to the Hegemony, forming a bastion of competence, respectability and, most importantly, Conservatism. And when someone like that requested something of a lowly captain, especially one who was seeking to transfer away from the front lines, it was imperative said captain took the request in the way it was intended. That being, not a request at all.

Tetha, personally, found Ka'hairal extremely pleasant and intelligent company. In fact, she was fairly sure she had received Ka’Ash because his father liked her. And, in fairness, the boy was smart. Very well taught, and astute enough to know how to manage the crew’s general dislike of him. Further, taking the boy on had earned her a huge amount of political capital with the Hegemons, hence why she was still a listed and protected operative of the Hegemony, despite working almost exclusively for Aria and all but ignoring orders when they came in.

In a curious twist of fate, this time both of her masters wanted her to do the same thing. Word had gone out on the black market that an unknown broker wished to auction off a data drive, stolen from the Imperium. To say such a prize was beyond valuable was an understatement; to this day, the technical specifications of Human ships eluded even the most capable of Council scientists. They were clearly more potent than Council vessels, but that wasn’t the thing that drew the scientists in. Those would be the stealth drives and the communications tech.

Imperial Communications were the mystery that kept on deepening. For the last four years, ever since the front stabilised, a challenge had been posted across the galaxy. For once, the Citadel, Aria T’Loak and the Shadow Broker were all in agreement, and so they laid out the challenge. And individual or group who could successfully intercept an Imperial communication would receive a colossal bounty. Even the Amrikaas the Council still held were questioned, hard. While none broke, they had revealed the general belief that none of the Council races would ever breach their communications. For four years, the smartest individuals in the galaxy poured their time, effort and resources into the cracking of the system. Thus far, no-one had been paid.

The Stealth tech was less of a mystery. The STG was known to use stealth frigates for numerous roles, and even the Turians were capable of outfitting their more valuable ships for stealth, but the ability to outfit a dreadnought or a full weight cruiser with stealth tech remained far beyond them. Stealth technology was one of the deciding factors in the conduct of the war. The Hierarchy couldn’t fight a fast war; every inch of a captured system had to be swept carefully, lest there be heavily armed, highly resilient vessels hidden away deep in the dark space. Even that wasn’t necessarily successful, with Turian rear guards occasionally being ambushed by well concealed human vessels. Thus, every victory became a slog, until its strength was bled away, and every retreat became a desperate scramble to reach the escape relay before any stealth ships could catch up and slip into the rear space, using the Hierarchy’s own ships as cover.

If the drive could even help one of the issues, it would be an intelligence breakthrough rivalling that of the Genophage. The Hegemony wanted it to trade to the Council. Aria wanted the Council to have it. And when both her masters wanted something to happen, Tetha was determined to ensure it did.

###

Dock five was as quiet as the grave. An Asari, a male Turian, a female Salarian, and a female Batarian stood in a rough semicircle around the cargo bay doors. They were each looking at each other, nervously. The Asari was nervous because she had been caught off guard by the Turian upon his arrival. Morinth was used to doing the surprising; to be ambushed with a pistol to her temple as she entered what was supposed to be a closed auction was… something of a turnabout. While she was able to talk the Turian down, the presence of the others wasn’t helpful.

Torus didn’t like the Batarian. The Asari leading her security detail wore a collar, clasped firmly around her throat. A collar only ever symbolised a single thing in Batarian space. Even if the Asari’s slavery must be more of a formality if the Batarian trusted her to lead a fireteam of Vorcha, it still rankled Gaarn. The fact the Vorcha were collarless meant the must be mercenaries; there wasn’t any other way the Hegemony would allow them to remain on a Hegemony ship.

Tetha and Teal were both deeply nervous for the same reason. Teal had run into Tetha as she approached Dock 5, and as the only Council authority present, they made contact. At Teal’s mention of the humans, however, what had been a casual conversation about the novelty of seeing a female Salarian walking around unattended rapidly segued into a pseudo-interrogation about the Humans in question. The Batarian was clearly a veteran, and by the sound of her gasping half breaths whatever happened during her last conflict with the Imperium had been far from pleasant.

The docking berth was a large oval shape, and the ship that lay within was of a strange make; it was extremely small, clearly a shuttle, but the sides were clearly armoured, and were coloured a pale cream. Hardly the most inconspicuous colouring, but the truly interesting part was the cloaked figure leading a hover trolley out of the ship. Upon the trolley, there sat a large drum, about a meter and a half in height, formed into a hexagonal arrangement.

“Ladies and gentlemen” The figure intoned. “You may call me Coriolanus. My crew and I have travelled across an ocean of stars to reach you and deliver you a gift fit for a king! The primary storage drive of the Imperial Human prison ship The Sin Eater. In the spirit of democracy, we elected to make all potentially interested parties aware of this discovery. Our offer of bidding begins at two million credits.”

Morinth was cursing inside. She very much expected to simply be able to kill the auctioneer and make off with the goods. While her finances were in good order, this was going to clear her out. Pursing her lips, she played the figures in her head. She knew the Turian, Gaarn, was operating on the behalf of the Council, and the Salarian was a SPECTRE. The Batarian Captain was likely working to deliver the core to the Council as well. However, there was always the chance she had miscalculated, and she was not going to give up her amnesty. The Matriarchs were going to choke on their own deeds if it was the last thing she did. Swallowing her curse, she bid at 2.1 million.

“Two point one million, to Morinth. Going, going… Three million to the Turian, Mr Gaarn, wait, what’s this, three and a half million to Teal. Going, going…”

Coriolanus’s speech was interrupted as he was hurled backwards. Immediately, the hands of the auctioneers went to their weapons, the Vorcha of Tetha’s security detail looking wildly around. Morinth’s hand grasped her knife and drew it, taking up a stance with the knife readied below her pistol. Gaarn, likewise, drew his pistol and readied it, taking aim at Teal, who, for her part, drew a vibro blade of her own and crouched into ready position. Tetha was the only individual who seemed nonplussed by the course of events. Gesturing to the security detail, two of the Vorcha focussed on targeting Gaarn and Morinth, while the other three and Alerie gathered protectively around Tetha, Ka’Ash and Teal.

Coriolanus was pulling himself to his feet, the round having been largely absorbed by his Kinetic barriers, when he felt his hackles raising beneath the hood. Throwing up a biotic shield, it arrived just in time to stop a super high energy round from ripping his torso in half. Drawing his pistol, he fired back in the direction of the culprit.

Pulled out of their standoff by the sound of Coriolanus’s gunfire, the gathered operatives turned to face the entrance to the dock, and there, highlighted by the sheer white of the dock gate, stood three dark figured. Teal and Tetha froze at the sight, as their glowing green eyes glared right through them at the core. Gaarn and Morinth, meanwhile, swallowed nervously.

The Vorcha opened fire. The Klaves returned fire.

The Humans won. Two of the Vorcha were turned into fine red mist by the high velocity, super high energy rounds. The humans started advancing towards the assembled party, as if daring anyone else to take a shot. Swallowing, Morinth flexed her grip on her Vibro knife. Gaarn levelled his pistol carefully at the nearest human. At this range, there was little chance of a clean kill, but the range was shrinking all the time.

Coriolanus fired again. The middle human, the female with the exposed head, stopped as her barriers flashed. She shone with blue energy for a moment, then she appeared to shoot forwards, covering almost the entire remaining distance in a second flat. The sudden movement was too much for the poorly trained Vorcha, who simply opened fire. The first Vorcha didn’t even realise as his head was removed by a perfect swing of a vibro sword, the blade blurring just as it made contact with the creature’s neck. Morinth leaped at the Klave, glowing as she used her own Biotic power to cover the distance at speed.

Morinth was forced to duck backwards immediately as the human lashed out with her vibro sword, cutting a clean arc through the second Vorcha and missing her by a hairs breadth. Firing off a couple of shots that bounced from the human’s kinetic barriers, Morinth lunged with her knife, only to roll swiftly out of the way as the human brought up her rifle and fired into the void she formerly occupied. The last Vorcha, realising it wasn’t going to get another opportunity, threw itself onto the human, forcing its arm against its chest, robbing it of the ability to aim its rifle.

Instead, it dropped both of its weapons, and, with its free sword hand, grasped the Vorcha by the back of its armour. Dragging it back, the human lifted it up in the air and smashed it onto the ground, before bringing its rifle fist down hard onto the Vorcha’s chest. There was a sickening crack as armour and bone gave way before augmented sinews, and the Vorcha let out a gasping, raspy breath.

While the Vorcha breathed its last, Morinth took the time to strategize. There was no way she’d be able to take down a human in a test of strength. Time to get magical. Reaching inside herself, she hurled a powerful biotic blast at the Klave, hurling it to the side, causing it to impact hard on the wall of the dock. She could hear the human snarl from across the dock, as it pulled itself to its feet. The glowing shimmer of the human’s own biotics flared up, as it charged back, pushing itself forwards on a wave of biotic force. Morinth prepared a charge of her own power to hold the human back, only for it to suddenly slam down into the ground. Turning, Morinth saw the Asari from the Batarian’s guard, shrouded in glowing energy.

Snarling, the human reared up to its knees. Morinth saw the handgun just in time and threw herself to the side as the high-power rounds tore through the space she just occupied. The other Asari wasn’t so lucky and caught two to the chest. One hit her kinetic barriers, flashing a powerful orange, while the other tore through the remaining shielding to cause a red bloom to form on her stomach, a couple of inches below her right breast. The Batarian caught her, and, pistol levelled at the human, dragged her towards the shuttle, where Coriolanus still stood, firing at the other humans as they advanced on the remaining party.

Gaarn knew he had to choose now. The Salarian was moving with the Batarian and the injured Asari slave; if he ran he could join in with them. However, that would mean jumping on board a Hegemony vessel as an escaped slave. The other Batarian, who up till this point had been snivelling behind the bodies of the butchered Vorcha, was following them towards the shuttle. The still healthy Asari (likely a commando, or former commando, given her survival) was facing down the human female, while the masked Coriolanus was aiming resolutely at the other humans. Drawing his pistol, Gaarn fired twice.

The first round struck Coriolanus’s weapon from his hand, the second smashed his depleted kinetic barriers and separated his right arm from his body. There was a spray of dark blood, before he fell to the ground, hard. The two humans seemed to break into a biotic fuelled run, pounding towards the fallen masked man. Gaarn, for his part, kicked the hover trolley, which rolled up the ramp towards the shuttle. The Batarian male grasped it, as Gaarn broke into a sprint towards the open hatch.

Morinth, meanwhile was getting bored of being thrown around. That wasn’t to say she’d been hit- she was quite uninjured to anything but her pride- but the human bitch was good. Hadn’t let Morinth get her bearings back since the first biotic blast. In the corner of her eye she could see the Turian moving the drive towards the open shuttle, but then she had to swerve out of the way of a brutally swift sword stroke. The Human had regained her sword from the ground, and although it wasn’t operating with its vibro capacity, a direct sword stroke from a human’s muscles would be more than enough to end her existence. Snarling at the human, Morinth let loose a biotic shock wave. Without any ability to dodge, the human simply drove its sword into the ground and took the hit, grinding back a couple of meters.

Then Morinth lunged. It shouldn’t have worked. The human was a fast bitch, and had little difficulty evading most of her attacks. For whatever reason, this time her vibro knife connected. It drove straight past the human’s shoulder armour and bit deep into the flesh within. The human regarded her with glowing green eyes before, unfazed by the deep stab wound in its shoulder, it slammed its fist into her gut, hurling her backwards. She crashed into the drive core, her lungs sputtering as she gasped for breath. Looking up, she saw the Turian and the Salarian standing around where the drive had been.

Looking down the hatch ramp, the two humans had Coriolanus in their grip, while the female had reclaimed her rifle and was aiming it at the shuttle bay door. Thinking fast, Morinth hurled up a biotic barrier.

Fast enough to stop the kill shot directed at her. Not fast enough to stop both the Turian and the Salarian from collapsing in pain as a round tore up a section of the flooring, sending slivers of shrapnel hurling around the interior of the cabin. The Salarian hissed, while the Turian simply collapsed as the shrapnel tore into his leg.

“Get us into the air!”

The female Batarian was already in the cockpit, so it was her commanding voice that called back.

“Would love to, but this shuttle is just bullshit. Gonna need you to close the hatch before grabbers on one two and three get here.”

“Too late; they’re already coming up the ramp”

Sounds of intense swearing came from the cockpit. That was when the Turian spoke up.

“Gonna need you to put up your barrier again- I can deal with the humans.”

Morinth’s eyebrows had never been higher. Then she saw what he Turian was holding; two grenade harnesses, by the look of them.

“Where by the goddess did you get those things.”

The Turian actually smirked at her- SMIRKED- before gesturing to the open cabinet built into the side of the ship. The cabinet filled with rifles, marked by two large gaps where the grenade harnesses were clearly once stored.

“This is a human shuttle. Coriolanus obviously stole it from the Imperium.”

Snarling, Morinth hurled up her Biotic barrier again as a volley of human rounds tore it down.

“Whatever you’re going to do, do it now.”

Nodding, Gaarn hurled himself up on his uninjured leg. Morinth dropped the barrier just in time for Gaarn to go barrelling out of the hatch, grenade harness in each hand. The female human glowed with power, and smashed Gaarn straight back towards the hatch. Morinth reached out with her own power, focussing on the harnesses. The grenades flew towards the Klaves, who, now aware they were not going to be able to get the grenades away in time, leaped off the ramp, as Morinth grabbed the hatch controls. The harnesses flew out just as it closed, with Morinth using her biotics to pull Gaarn into the shuttle as the Batarian started to take off.

Gaarn’s eyes closed and the world faded to a blood loss induced darkness as the shuttle powered up into the higher atmosphere.

“Mission is unsuccessful. The targets escaped with the data core. Three injured, one in critical. Move the Watcher Infernus to intercept. We’re scrubbing this city.”

“Acknowledged Sergeant Lawson. Principal Containment Protocols in full effect. Clean it up”

“Yes Captain”

Arya Lawson turned to her men. They weren’t in the best of moods. Well, at least they had the escaped prisoner; thousands of light years, and here they were at last. Well, nothing to do about that.

“Well, privates. Looks like we get to clean up this mess. Were the packages secure?”

“Yes ma’am. First, something you might want to have a look at.”

Arya looked at the unoccupied Klave, before nodding. He was holding the Salarian’s omni tool; evidently it had come off during the final fight.

“We got a SPECTRE ma’am. And an STG affiliate at that.”

Arya raised an eyebrow. Then, she smiled beneath the rebreather.

“Maybe this’ll be worth it after all.”

The grunts nodded, before Arya reached to her own omni tool. One of the only pieces of council tech to be wholeheartedly embraced by the Imperium, she did have to admit it did a damn fine job. Keying in the activation sequences, the little red timer was visible on the screen.

As the transport activated its stealth drives, the sensors were blinded by the atomic explosion behind them, as Yipsum exploded into a massive nuclear fireball. The Watcher Infernus hung over the moon, the fragments of a demolished ship hanging around it like celestial rings.

“Good hunting then Infernus?”

“Negative Sergeant. The Hegemony ship escaped. The prisoners have been silenced however.”

Arya cursed under her breath, before breathing and focussing her mind to the task ahead.

**Author's Note:**

> So, there we go. My plan is basically to just tell a series of semi self contained stories, rather than one overarching narrative (because I have a bad habit of changing those as I go along).
> 
> So, Humanity is an Imperium rather than a Systems Alliance. I've taken quite a few cues from Warhammer 40k and Halo when it comes to naming things, hence the overly elaborate ship and organisation names. 
> 
> Final thing is, for the sake of my own imagination and sanity, I am basically ignoring the galaxy map from Mass Effect, because I don't remember it and I will not be researching it in depth, so if a world appears here that doesn't feature in the galaxy map, please just bare with me. When something important happens in canon there (Bahak, Illium, Omega, etc) I will use the name, but otherwise, I will be making it up as I go.
> 
> Please, comment and review. Ideas are welcome, as are any writing tips. If you're just going to insult me, please don't. If your going to nag me about my other stories, yes, I hear you, I'm sorry. My brain goes where it goes, with no control over the process.


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